Benefits
by Alexandra Spar
Summary: Alirion Writes Dreadmoon. More specifically, fluffy StarscreamDreadmoon. The Seeker wants to know what it's like to be hooked into the planetary grid, and Dreadmoon shows, rather than tells, him.


Disclaimer, as always: Transformers and related indicia are the property of Hasbro/Takara. Dreadmoon, his watchtower, and the whole concept of the Monitors, as far as I know, belong to Wayward. The blue bastard with the hat just popped into my head and wouldn't go away.

He couldn't describe it to anyone else, and up until now hadn't wanted to; there weren't words for the sensation of being connected so intimately to the planet—of _being_ the planet. His consciousness spread and thinned like the edges of a nebula, when he was hooked in: while he could still feel his body, vaguely, the support of the interfaces and the faint pressure of Cybertron's gravity, he could also feel the walls and the towers of the city itself. The footsteps of anyone on the streets of his city would not go unremarked when he was interfaced.

"It's strange," he said, now, unimaginatively. Starscream snorted and leaned against the console, arms folded, watching him. The red gaze prompted further elaboration, so he went on, using sweeping hand gestures to attempt to convey the sensation. "Like...I don't know. Have you ever had to control anything remotely through a mindlink?"

"Now and then," said Starscream, remembering a few of Megatron's less-inspired ruby-crystal-centric schemes. "So you're...puppeteering?"

"No, that's not it at all." Dreadmoon sighed and looked up at the Seeker, who was wearing his patented maddening half-smile. He knew Starscream wouldn't leave him alone to get his work done until Dreadmoon came up with a description that satisfied him, and he also knew that if Starscream remained there with that particular smirk on his face that he would probably not be able to concentrate sufficiently to provide one. The urge to pull him down to the chair and explore the exquisitely sensitive recesses of his air-intakes was building. "It's much less crude. I'm...the city. I'm the entire sector. I feel it; I control it. Your gestalts might be able to explain it better."

Starscream dismissed the gestalt teams with a negligent blue wave, his optics warm with amusement. "Why don't you show me?"

"What?" demanded Dreadmoon, sounding a bit more shocked than he'd intended to. "I can't do that, you're not built for the interface, it might damage you—"

"Your concern is appreciated, love," said Starscream lazily, and detached himself from the console edge, moving around behind Dreadmoon's chair and letting his hands trace down the sensor-heavy edges of his wings. "But I don't have to hook myself into the system. I can hook myself into you."

Dreadmoon shivered as cobalt fingers traced circles over lapis curves, waking a slow wave of sensory input. The contact let their fields touch, and Starscream didn't have to use his voice modulator to say _See?_

_...I..yes,_ managed Dreadmoon. _All right, all right, I'll do it, just leave off tickling my wings before—_

_Before what, my love?_ Starscream inquired, with a mental chuckle, but he did stop what he was doing and allow Dreadmoon to get out of the chair—rather pleased with himself as he saw how much the Monitor was shivering.

Dreadmoon let Starscream take his hand—letting out a soft sound as the fields came back in contact and his bondmate's presence touched his own again—and lead him over to the interface couch. It wasn't pretty, but it was functional: a chair fitted and augmented with connectors which, when they were all hooked up, allowed Dreadmoon to tap directly into the planetary grid of Sector Eight. He sank into the chair, still wondering vaguely if this was a good idea, and felt the familiar connections make themselves one by one. Cables snaked down from the ceiling of the chamber, their taps finding the jackports on either side of Dreadmoon's neck, on his shoulders, his arms, his helmet; there was a sudden dimming of the light in the chamber, as Dreadmoon's visor slid down over his optics and the links went live.

Starscream's hand tightened on Dreadmoon's as the Amnimount control room faded and was replaced by dark-blue fog; for a moment he felt fear, despite the presence of the Monitor, but it quickly turned to wonder. Through his connection to Dreadmoon he could faintly _feel_ the last of the sunlight fading from the towers of the city, as if his own metal skin was cooling. His consciousness seemed to expand, spreading out over the sector; energy pulses flashed past him and were gone, the little flares of citizens' life forces going about their daily business. Delighted, he let himself explore further, feeling for the first time what it was like to be Cybertronian in more ways than one.

A sudden and extraordinary wave of sensation flickered over him, and he recognized Dreadmoon's presence, in his element, warmly amused. _I told you it was indescribable_.

_That you did,_ Starscream replied, still a little dizzy from the strangeness of it all and the heat Dreadmoon's mindtouch had evoked. _It's beautiful. It's...._you're_...exquisite._

_Hush_, said Dreadmoon, and Starscream could not have replied even had he wanted to, for the Monitor was all around him, holding him in an embrace more complete than any physical approximation could attempt; he was conscious of rising waves of exquisite sensory input, not limited by circuit pathways or resistance ratings, flaring through him like liquid light. Here, in the purely mental plane where Dreadmoon connected with his city, they were unfettered by anything but their own pleasure thresholds, and Starscream's tentative caresses lit Dreadmoon's mind like a falling star.

Neither of them were sure how long they danced there in the mind of the sector, exploring one another with the simple delight of discovery, but when at length they did disengage, they found themselves curled together on Dreadmoon's interface couch, the cables wrapped around both their forms like an embrace.

"Interesting job you have," Starscream murmured, after a while, tracing the sharp angle of Dreadmoon's cheekbone.

The Monitor tightened his arms around his bondmate. "Yes," he agreed, "it does have its benefits."


End file.
